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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



CONSOLATION 



FOR 



Mothers with Empty Arms, 




97972. 



AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 

IO EAST 23D STREET, NEW YORK. 



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COPYRIGHT, 1894, 
AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY. 



CONSOLATION. 



Who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that 
We may be able to comfort tljem Which are in any 
trouble, by the comfort Where With We ourselves are 
comforted of God. 2 Cor. 1 : 4. 

Only a mother can understand the love 
of a mother for her child. Life of her life, 
supremely her own by the claim of her 
suffering and self denial, surely there is no 
relationship in life closer and more tender 
than that between a mother and her child. 
From the instant of its birth the little one 
becomes an inseparable part of the mother's 
life. Its very helplessness and dependence 



4 CON SO LA TlOy 

upon her for its every need make it more 
precious to her, and no human love so nearly 
approaches the divine love in its complete 
abnegation of self as does the love of a 
mother for her child. ■* 

It is to its mother that a little child 
turns instinctively in every distress, and one 
of the greatest joys of motherhood is the 
ability to soothe and comfort the little one. 
One of the most perfect expressions of the 
tenderness of God's love for his children is 
given in the passage, " As one whom his 
mother comforteth, so will I comfort you." 
There is such comfort to a child in its mo- 
ther's touch ! Even though the loving arms 
about it cannot allay its distress or lessen its 
pain, yet as the child nestles against its mo- 



FOR MOTHERS 117 77/ EMPTY ARMS. j 

ther's bosom it is comforted beneath all its 
trouble 

A little child interprets God's love to 
its mother's heart with a sweetness that she 
could never understand in any other way. 
The constant watchfulness, the tender care, 
the loving anxiety that her little one shall 
have every good thing, bring to her a realiz- 
ing sense of God's care for his children. It 
is so tender and so close a tie that when it 
is sundered it is not strange that the mo- 
ther's heart well-nisrh breaks with desolation. 
Her arms ache with emptiness, and as she 
realizes that the precious little one has 
passed beyond her care life seems a dreary 
waste, with but little for which to live. Just 
because her life has centered in its life, be- 



6 CON SOLA TJON 

cause her every thought has been for its 
well-being, so now her loneliness is agonizing. 
The tender baby life so soon weaves 
itself into all its surroundings that every 
inanimate thing about the house seems en- 
dowed with a power to arouse memories of 
the little one. Perhaps a mother who has 
never lost a child may fancy that through 
her very joy of possession she can measure 
the anguish of loss. When she has soothed 
her baby to rest and laid it in its snowy 
nest she gathers up the rumpled frock, the 
half-worn baby shoe, and with a swift rush 
of tears thinks she can feel the loneliness 
of her neighbor over the way, who sits in 
the empty nursery, listening in vain for the 
patter of little feet that are now treading 



FOR MOTHERS WITH EMPTY ARMS. 7 
the street of the Celestial City. Yet I think 
that no one but a mother with empty arms 
can understand it all. Such little things 
can hurt us so cruelly. Not only the dainty 
garments, the toys that are never used now, 
the deep silence in the house that before 
was broken with sweet baby prattlings, but 
such unexpected things can open the flood- 
gates of grief. The chiming of a bell, the 
sound of a hand-organ, the flutter of a bird's 
wing past the window, and you can see 
again the dear eyes widen with pleased sur- 
prise that are closed now for ever upon 
earth, and you wonder sorrowfully how you 
can go on with life when it is so full of 
power to wound your bleeding heart at every 
turn. Ah, I know it all, and time has not 



8 CONSOLA TION 

yet healed the soreness of the wound ; and 
it is because I have been bereaved of the 
precious little life that was the light of our 
household and the joy of our hearts, and yet 
have been comforted even while I passed 
down into the valley of the shadow of death 
w T ith my darling, that I want to comfort 
other mothers, if I may, with the comfort 
wherewith I was comforted of God. 

However poorly I may fulfil my desire, 
and fail in imparting to others the peace 
which underlies all the agony of desolation, 
believe me that my heart goes out to a 
mother with empty arms with sympathy 
which only one who has passed through 
that sorrow can feel. 

Death came to my little one as a tender 



FOR MOTHERS If 7 77/ EMPTY ARMS. 9 
nurse to woo him away from a life of suffer- 
ing and bear him to the tender keeping of 
the Good Shepherd. There was nothing 
terrible in his coming, and the look of peace 
that bloomed upon the tired baby face, as he 
passed from my arms to the embrace of the 
messenger who had watched with me for so 
many weary weeks, comforted me even in 
that moment of supreme anguish. 

'• It is well with the child." Let that be 
our first thought. How gladly have we 
denied ourselves for the precious little ones, 
how gladly we would have laid down our 
lives to save them from suffering, if so we 
could have done it! And is there a mother 
heart among us who, even in the first agony 
of desolation, would call back her child from 



to COX SOLA TIOX 

the glory of heaven that her arms might be 
once more filled with their treasured burden? 
We who are mothers know how often our 
tenderest love and care have been impotent 
to save our children one pang, or soften the 
path which their tender baby feet must tread; 
and as years went by we would have found 
ourselves ever less and less able to shield 
them from suffering, sorrow, and temptation. 
Is it not compensation for our own loneliness 
to remember how infinitely safe our darlings 
are? Earth's tempest can never rage upon 
the heavenly shores ; the dark shapes of 
temptation and sin have no place among the 
spotless inhabitants of the Celestial City ; 
there shall be no sickness there, and God's 
own hand shall wipe away their tears. 



FOR MOTHERS WITH EMPTY ARMS. // 

We pray so earnestly for our little ones 
that God may bestow upon them his richest 
blessings and may keep them safe from 
every harm, yet when he grants the fullest 
answer to our hearts desire and takes our 
precious ones into his own keeping, we cry 
out in our loneliness, and forget their infinite 
gain in our own exceeding loss. What honor 
it is to be the mother of one of those white 
child-spirits about the throne ; to know that 
the sweet baby voice that called " mother," 
or perhaps could only mimic our human 
speech in broken syllables, is now mingling 
with the choirs of heaven! When the stars 
come out, and you long to clasp the little 
creature of your care and love in your warm 
arms and soothe it to slumber, as mothers 



12 CON SO LA TION 

all about you are doing, does it not comfort 
vou, even though the hot tears course down 
your cheeks, to remember, 

11 Christ, the Good Shepherd, carries mine to-night, 
And that is best." 

Do you ask why it is that other mothers 
still have their little ones, and are blessed 
with the sunshine of their smiles, the music 
of their happy voices, while your arms are 
empty? Why is it that everywhere you go 
you can see little lives that are unloved and 
uncherished, that are growing up in neglect, 
squalor, and vice, and living in defiance of 
every known law of hygiene, while your 
beloved child was taken from you, though 
you cherished it most tenderly and neglected 
nothing that love and skill could prompt ? 



/•Wy 1 MOTHERS WITH EMPTY ARMS. ij 

Those are indeed unanswerable questions, 
but I think there is a great peace in the 
knowledge that because it is God's way it 
is of necessity right beyond question. In 
this matter let us trust our Father's love just 
as implicitly as our little ones trusted us. 
How often have we had to thwart their 
wishes and inclinations for their best and 
highest good. Did they love us the less, or 
question our right? Nothing is more beau- 
tiful than the trust of a little child, and we 
will find peace in trusting like one of these. 

It may be that it was in love for the 
child that it w 7 as early transplanted. Trav- 
elling through Scotland, where the sheep 
graze all the year through upon the velvety 
shoulders of the great Bens, I noticed stone 



i 4 CON SO LA TION 

enclosures here and there, protected from the 
cold winds by trees. I asked a shepherd 
what those enclosures were, and he told me 
they were folds for " the weaklings and the 
wee lambs," where the shepherd brought 
them when the storms were gathering. Was 
it not in tenderness that the shepherd folded 
the weak ones and the little lambs? Is the 
Good Shepherd less tender? We do not 
know what storms our precious wee lambs 
have escaped by being folded so early. It 
may be that if they had been spared to us 
w r e should have had occasion to shed far 
more bitter tears than those which now fill 
our eyes. Such grief would have blinded us, 
but the tears we shed over our little ones 
in the heavenly fold become lenses through 



FOR MOTHERS WITH EMPTY ARMS, 15 

which we catch glimpses of the glory and 
radiance into which they have entered. If 
our love can only be unselfish enough to 
rise above our loneliness and desolation, can 
we not be almost exultant at the thought of 
the blessedness into which our child has 
entered ? 

All the loss is ours, and the gain is all 
for the little one who passed so uncon- 
sciously from our arms to the Good Shep- 
herd's keeping. 

" Well done of God to halve the lot 
To give her all the sweetness : 
To us the empty room and crib, 

To her all heaven's completeness." 

Death has no terror for a little child. 
It but falls asleep never to waken again to 



1 6 a TION 

pain or sorrow. The little white casket is 
no less tender a resting-place than the snowy 
crib. Would you, if you could, waken the 
peaceful slumberer? You know how full 
this world is of disappointment and heartache 
and temptation, and you know how blessed 
beyond human conception is the little one 
whom Christ has taken into his own keep- 
in?. Those tiny hands, as fair as if an artist 
had sculptured them from marble, need never 
bear life's burdens now. The little feet, so 
strangely quiet, will never tread the rough 
places in life's path. The rare sweet blos- 
soms which your loving hands have showered 
about the beautiful baby form may fade, 
but in the heavenly gardens the flowers are 
fadeless, and it is in those gardens that 



FOR MOTHERS WITH EMPTY ARMS. 17 

the sweet child-spirit will roam. Ah, even 
while your heart seems rent with the anguish 
of parting, you know that indeed "it is well 
with the child." 

It may be for our own sakes that God 
has taken our little one. When a shepherd 
wants a sheep to follow him and she will not 
heed his call, although he wants to lead her 
to new pastures where the pasturage will be 
fresher and more plentiful, he lifts her little 
lamb in his arms and carries it away from 
her to the place where he would lead her. 
The sheep will follow her little one, although 
she would not heed the shepherd's voice. It 
may be that we have not heeded the voice of 
the Good Shepherd, and so he has lifted our 

little one in his arms and taken it to the 

3 



18 CO A SOLA TION 

green fields of the heavenly Canaan that we 
may follow him more closely than we have 
ever done before. Surely any loss which 
brings us closer to the loving heart of Christ 
is immeasurable gain. 

It may be, too, that it is by this very 
bereavement that God has " set us free to 
serve." After our tutelage in caring for 
and ministering to these precious little ones 
of our care we shall know better how to 
care for those who need tenderness and gen- 
tle ministrations. The world is so full of 
those who suffer, and it may be that after 
we have served an apprenticeship beside our 
own little one, in the instructive school of 
sorrow, we may be fitted, as we could never 
be otherwise, to minister to others" In His 



I 



FOR MOTHERS WITH EMPTY ARMS. ty 
Name." Out of our very loss we can give 
to others, 

" For those who suffer most have most to give." 

Surely we would not shrink away from 
the pain, the bitter discipline by which God 
would fit us for service, if because our hearts 
have been broken we can pour the oil of 
healing into other wounded hearts. If we 
find that through suffering God enriches our 
natures so that we are fitted for the ministry 
of grief to grief, and we can comfort aching 
hearts as we could not if we had known 
only joy, surely we will not murmur because 
it was at the cost of our dearest treasure 
that we were fitted for service. 

It is a great honor when God gives us 



20 CON SO LA TION 

suffering to bear for him, and it should be 
our prayer that we may prove ourselves 
worthy of it. We may have an opportunity 
to glorify him in the hour of suffering or 
bereavement as we never could in the sun- 
light of prosperity. 

We do trust our Father's love and wis- 
dom, and believe that " He doeth all things 
well." Let us, even in the first hour of 
desolation, be careful to prove that God can 
not send any sorrow which is too great for 
his love to comfort, and even as we have 
comforted our children let us be comforted 
now by the infinite tenderness of the heart 
of God, which suffers in our pain as we have 
suffered with our children. 

Grief is natural. God has given us our 



FOR MOTHERS WITH EMPTY ARMS. 21 

children to love even as he loves us, as far 
our weak earthly love can be measured 
beside his infinite tenderness. The rending 
asunder of the tie so close and dear must 
cost us anguish and bitter tears, but let us 
be careful that our eyes are not so blinded 
with tears that we miss the blessing that God 
means to bestow on us. He has emptied 
our hands of the cares and duties of mother- 
hood, which were so precious to us, that he 
might fill them with other tasks. 

Because our darlings are beyond our 
care and are so tenderly cherished of Christ, 
let us look for the desolate, unloved ones 
upon earth and minister to them with the 
tenderness we learned in caring for the child 
of our love. Because no tears can dim the 



22 CONSOLA TIOX 

dear baby's eyes in which you once saw your 
own reflected, dry the tears of some other 
little one who may never have known the 
tenderness of a mother's love. Let us fill 
our lives with helpfulness to others, as a 
living memorial of our love for our precious 
child. No costly sculpture nor glowing win- 
dow can take the place of loving deeds and 
gentle ministrations. Let, rather, our life be 
so full of beautiful deeds done " In His 
Name," and in gratitude for the little one 
who nestled against our heart long enough 
to fill it with the holy joy of motherhood, 
that God's love shining through it may make 
the self-sacrifice, the tenderness, and the 
giving royally of all that we have and are to 
the service of others, glow like the crimson 



FOR MOTHERS WITH EMPTY ARMS. 23 
and blue and purple in sonic cathedral win- 
dow — a memorial that shall be a blessing to 
ourselves and others. There is nothing that 
will so soon brinof comfort to a desolate heart 
as the effort to comfort another. It is some- 
thing to be very thankful for, if God fills our 
empty hands with tasks for others. Thank 
him for the smallest opportunity of helpful- 
ness to others, for each will be a stepping- 
stone up from the depths of sorrow. 

Only in self-forgetfulness can we find 
peace. Not happiness, for it will be long, if 
ever, before the sight of a baby's dimpled 
hand or downy head resting against a 
mother's cheek will lose its power to hurt 
you sorely, yet these hurts will be like the 
tossing waves of the sea, only upon the 



*4 CON SOLA TION 

surface, while in the depths will abide an 
eternal calm. 

11 Then nestle your hand in the Father's, 
And sing, if you can, as you go, 
Your song may cheer some one behind you 

Whose courage is sinking low. 
And, well, if your lips do quiver, 
God will love you better so." 



FOR MOTHERS WITH EMPTY ARMS. 25 



MATER DOLOROSA. 

Because of little low-laid heads all crowned 

With golden hair, 
Forevermore all fair young brows to me 

A halo wear. 
I kiss them reverently. Alas ! I know 

The stains I bear. 

Because of dear but close-shut holy eyes 

Of heaven's own blue, 
All little eyes do fill my own with tears, 

Whate'er their hue ; 
And motherly I gaze their innocent 

Clear depths into. 

Because of little pallid lips which once 

My name did call, 
No childish voice in vain appeal upon 

My ear doth fall. 

I count it all my joy their joys to share 

And sorrows small. 
4 



26 CON SO LA TION 

Because of little dimpled cherished hands 

Which folded lie, 
All little hands henceforth to me do have 

A pleading cry ; 
I clasp them as they were small wandering birds 

Lured home to fly. 

Because of little death-cold feet, for earth's 

Rough roads unmeet, 
I 'd journey leagues to save from sin or harm 

Such little feet, 
And count the lowliest service done for them 

So sacred — sweet ! 



THE BABY'S STOCKING. 

The baby's stocking ! Such a dainty thing, 
Which like the bud sheath of a flower is shaped 

By the pink foot, that with its blossom twin 
But scarcely from the silken mesh escaped. 

I wonder if a thing so soft and small 

In every mother's heart hath potent power 

To waken such an ecstasy of joy 

As that which surges through my heart this hour. 



FOR MOTHERS WITH EMPTY ARMS. 27 

The Christmas bells ring out their merriest peals, 

As I sit here beside the downy nest 
Where like a rosy cherub, flushed with sleep, 

Breathing so stilly, lies my boy at rest. 

Ah, dainty stocking, you are far too small 
To hold of all my gifts aught but the least ; 

Nay, baby king, the very world would fail 
To span my love's desire from west to east. 

What would I give to thee, beloved ? Nay, 
Ask rather is there aught I would not give 

To crown with all completeness thy sweet life, 
In whose fair opening radiance I live. 

The music of the Christmas bells chimes on, 

The Christmas stars look down with tender light 

As I the baby's stocking softly fill — 

No happier mother in the world to-night. 



Again the Christmas stars swing in the sky, 
Once more I sit beside the downy nest : 

No fair sweet baby lies in rosy sleep, 

Ah me ! the pillow is so smooth, un pressed. 



28 CON SOLA TION 

I clasp the little stocking while the tears 

Come swift, unbidden. Those dear rosy feet 

Will never more be bruised in life's rough ways ; 
For touch of baby feet they were not meet. 

Full well I know the blessedness of heaven. 

The sweet child saint who through the long days 
bore 
His cross of pain, walks with the Christ to-night. 

Could all the passion of my love crave more ? 

Ah, truly I am blessed above you all. 

Yet tears, you say ? Alas ! I think that so, 
Through lenses such as these, our falling tears, 

We see life's highest blessings here below. 



BEST. 

Mother, I see you with your nursery light 
Leading your babies, all in white, 

To their sweet rest ; 
Christ, the Good Shepherd, carries mine to-night, 

And that is best. 



FOR MOTHERS WITH EMPTY ARMS. 29 

I cannot help tears when I see them twine 
Their fingers in yours, and their bright curls shine 

On your warm breast ; 
But the Saviour's is purer than yours or mine — 

He can love best. 

You tremble each hour because your arms 
Are weak ; your heart is wrung with alarms, 

And sore oppressed ; 
My darlings are safe, out of reach of harms, 

And that is best. 

You know over yours may hang even now 
Pain and disease, whose fulfilling slow 

Naught can arrest ; 
Mine in God's garden run to and fro, 

And that is best. 

You know that, of yours, your feeblest one 
And dearest may live long years alone, 

Unloved, unblessed ; 
Mine are cherished of saints around God's throne, 

And that is best. 



jo CON SO LA TION 

You must dread for yours the crime that sears, 
Dark guilt unwashed by repentant tears, 

And unconfessed ! 
Mine entered spotless on eternal years, 

O, how much the best ! 

But grief is selfish ; I cannot see 
Always why I should so stricken be 

More than the rest. 
But I know that, as well as for them, for me 

God did the best ! H. H. 



LIFTED OVER. 

As tender mothers guiding baby steps, 
When places come at which the tiny feet 
Would trip, lift up the little ones in arms 
Of love and set them down beyond the harm, 
So did our Father watch the precious boy 
Led o'er the stones by me, who stumbled oft 
Myself but strove to help my darling on : 
He saw the sweet limbs faltering, and saw 



FOR MOTHERS WITH EMPTY ARMS. ji 

Rough ways before us, where my arms would fail ; 
So reached from heaven, and lifting the dear child, 
Who smiled in leaving me, he put him down 
Beyond all hurt, beyond my sight, and bade 
Him wait for me ! Shall I not then be glad, 
And, thanking God, press on to overtake? 

H. H. 



A FACE AT THE WINDOW. 

Once, as I wandered down the street, 
I saw at a window a face so sweet — 
The tiny face of a baby girl, 
With a soft, clear eye, and a silken curl — 
And I looked o'er my shoulder again to see 
The sweet, sweet face that smiled on me 
With a look in the eyes that seemed to say, 
" I 've come from heaven, but not to stay." 

Adown the street as I walked again 

I looked for the face at the window pane ; 

But the blind was drawn, and I heard it said, 

As I passed along, that the child was dead. 

O happy baby ! O cherub girl, 

Borne up out of the din and whirl — 



32 CON SOLA TION. 

Out of the sorrow and saddened strife 
That burden even the brightest life — 
Out of the darkness and out of the gloom, 
A bud in the garden of God to bloom — 
Safe from danger and care and cold — 
Sheltered for ever within the fold. 
******* 

Sweet, sweet face with the soulful eyes, 
Look from the windows of God's fair skies- 
Look with those beauteous orbs of thine 
And draw me nearer to things divine. 
Walking along life's troubled way 
Let me look up, as I looked that day, 
And know that a fair and cherub face 
Smiles upon me through leagues of space. 
Help me to keep from the snares, my sweet, 
That lie unnumbered about my feet ; 
Watch when I stumble, that I may rise 
Cheered by the light of thy smiling eyes, 
• And when my journey of life is done 
May I see thy face, O cherub one ! 

Ella Wheeler. 






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